


Questions That Need Answers

by affluent_absolution



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John's blog, M/M, cuteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affluent_absolution/pseuds/affluent_absolution
Summary: i tried so hard with the Pashto (I love you) and the words at the end are actually how it's pronounced in Arabic but you get the ideaFrench: "What would I do without you?" "You have beautiful eyes." "I love you with all my heart."





	1. Introduction

John felt like he was on the outside looking in for most of his life. Looking in on happy families, on people who could afford lunch and school, on people in happy relationships. Eventually, he felt like he was on the outside, looking in at the whole world, going on with their lives. Then he met Sherlock and never once felt like he was on the outside. From the start, Sherlock grabbed him up and thrust him into the  _ in _ and never let John make his way back to the  _ outside.  _ So now that they’re dating, John is more  _ in  _ than ever, and it feels so amazing to have an entire blog readership that are on the outside and only he can control what they know. Even so, there are dozens of questions plaguing the comments sections of his blog posts from friends, family, and complete strangers- or as they prefer to be called, fans. In any case, John deleted most of the comments. But some stuck with him, and he answered them in his mind. He considered posting them to the blog a few times, then immediately dismissed it. Sometimes it was only proper to be on the outside, looking in.


	2. Who Makes the Tea? -Lestrade

Short Answer: Usually John.

Long Answer: Sherlock is very precise about his tea. He likes it steeped for an exact number of minutes and seconds, and the steeping time varies based on the tea. He measures the sugar he puts in it by the milligram and measures the milk added by the milliliter.

Although Sherlock drinks John’s tea now, he didn’t always. The first time John made tea for him, Sherlock took a sip, made a face and put it down. 

“What’s wrong with it?” John had asked.

“Too much milk,” Sherlock had replied. “Not sure about the sugar. Milk is overpowering.”

The next time, John had put less milk in. Again, it was dismissed with a grimace.

“What’s wrong this time?” He’d asked, a small smile creeping up his face.

“Too much sugar.”

John had added less sugar the next time and still Sherlock refused to drink it. John suggested Sherlock show him how he took his tea exactly, which Sherlock begrudgingly did. He used his precise scientific instruments while John watched with a small smile on his face.

The next time John made tea, Sherlock drank it.

"Did you measure it?" He had asked. "I didn't hear you get out the measuring cups."

"Nope," John had said. "Approximation works fine, doesn't it?"

Sherlock had looked a little shocked, glanced down at this mug, then back up to John. "I suppose so," he had said, a little meek.

Sherlock never had a problem with John's tea after that.


	3. Where Does All the Milk Go? -Mrs. Hudson

Short Answer: experiments

Long Answer: Sherlock, despite being brilliant and a fantastic chemist, has a bad habit of not planning out his experiments completely. Far too often, he works with caustic chemicals and doesn't think ahead to deactivating them completely. Milk, as a neutral to acidic substance, works well to deactivate them. During cases, there is usually milk in, but during lulls there is usually a shortage. John tried buying two separate jugs of milk once, but both were gone within the same time frame. He has accepted it as a part of life and just tries not to make a habit of asking Mrs. Hudson for milk.


	4. Does Sherlock like swimming? -Fan

Short Answer: Yes

Long Answer: There was a case once in a remote area with dozens of lakes and caves. Sherlock solved the case within the first day and they had their room booked for two days, so Sherlock suggested they take a mini vacation and enjoy the beach. John had agreed and had ventured down to the beach after a night of post-case sleep. They were more northern than usual, and the sand was cool and chilled their feet. Sherlock had velvety black swim trunks and John had bright blue ones he had purchased at the tourist shop that day. The beach hadn't been crowded by any standards, but there were a couple dozen people spread thinly along its expanse. Sherlock immediately took off into the water while John laid their towels out on the beach. Throughout the lake there were jagged rocks and boulders sticking out of the water. By the time John had placed their towels and headed toward the water's edge, Sherlock was perched on top of one a couple hundred feet out. John swam out to meet him and managed to climb up the rock without falling. He sat next to Sherlock and admired the cool grey water lapping at the shore and base of the rocks.

"When I was a child we used to go to the beach by my grand-mère's home every summer. It was French and Mycroft always hated it. There were too many people, honestly."

"We never went to the beach. When I was in upper school my friends and I used to sneak into the rich neighbourhood's pool at night with our girlfriends. The one time I stayed home because I was sick they got caught. I never went with them after that."

Sherlock nodded and put his hand on John's knee. The silence between them was filled with the rhythmic beat of the water and sparing screams of delighted children for several moments. 

"I'll race you back to the shore," Sherlock said, and grinned before diving off the rock. John laughed and cannonballed in after him.

~

After the Moriarty incident at the pool, John worried that Sherlock had lost any childish love for swimming. He hoped to himself that one day their honeymoon would take place somewhere tropical with a beautiful outdoor pool. They were so rarely out of London's chilled grey weather that he thought it might do them good. Among other things, of course.


	5. Does John speak another language? -Fan

Short Answer: Yes.

Long Answer: John had spent seven years in Khandar, Afghanistan from just after college to well into his late prime. He had always been quick with languages, not as quick as Sherlock and Mycroft of course, but quicker than his peers. It would have been strange for him to have not picked up some of the language there. Many of the younger children didn't know yet to be afraid of the soldiers and would talk to them. A few of the girls brought their favorite soldiers flowers- John received several in his time. The soldiers also gave some of the children MREs, especially the poorer children. He learned the words for flower, friend, hot, water, and play within his first month there. But he also learned scared, help, war, and death. He met young children who plucked purple flowers from the earth and gave them to his fellow soldiers, only to see them handle assault rifles the size of their small bodies. The words he learned and when were horrific, but the language had a beauty to it almost as misunderstood as the land. The land was coarse and dry and scarred, and the language- Pashto, specifically- was guttural, and to John often sounded like an odd mix of German and French with an Arabic accent. The children spoke it quickly and early, while the adults spoke slowly with many stuttering pauses between phrases. It was relaxing to listen to at times, the conversations floating from the center of town toward their camp. Within a year, John could carry conversations with the children and did often. He could talk to adults, but they didn't want to talk to the soldiers. They knew what happened when the soldiers came to town.

Sherlock wondered for ages if John could speak Pashto. John wasn't very liberal with his use; he rarely spoke the language. He wanted to ask for years, but it turned out that he didn't need to. It came out at some point that Sherlock could speak French and he had a rather fun time showing off. No one had been impressed at his fluency since Lestrade's momentary impressed reaction when he discovered the trait. In the midst of his fun, he realized John found it a bit of an aphrodisiac. Between kisses he whispered bits of French meshed with English so John still understood the meaning.

" _Qu'est-ce que je ferais sans toi, John? I'd be lost."_

_"Tu as de très beaux yeux._ _Très bleu."_

_"Je t'aime de tout mon coeur. All my heart."_

John kissed at Sherlock's neck. "زه ستا سره مینه لرم. Ana hadbuko."

Sherlock paused and moved a few centimeters away. "You speak Arabic?"

"Pashto," John corrected. "And a little bit of Arabic. I'm fairly fluent in Pashto, or at least I was when I was over there. I'm a bit rusty now."

"It's a very beautiful language," Sherlock said. 

"It is, isn't it?" John smiled. "Come on, take me to bed."

Sherlock clasped John's hand and led him toward their bedroom. "I'll tell you a story in French if you tell me one in Pashto."

"Deal," John said, and shut the door behind them.

For hours afterward, anyone who stood outside their door could hear murmurings in four different languages interspersed with light laughter and something more passionate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried so hard with the Pashto (I love you) and the words at the end are actually how it's pronounced in Arabic but you get the idea  
> French: "What would I do without you?" "You have beautiful eyes." "I love you with all my heart."


	6. Who would make dinner? -Harry

Short Answer: Both

Long Answer: John made dinner most of the time. Some sort of pasta usually, and sometimes a stir fry or rice-based dish if he was feeling adventurous in his cooking. Sometimes Sherlock ate it, more often he picked at it and ate maybe a quarter or a half of the dish. And he never helped with dishes, obviously. John didn't really mind. He did a little bit when he first moved in, before he really knew Sherlock. But he understood Sherlock now, knew him, loved him. He knew that the fact that Sherlock ever ate his meals in the first place was an enormous effort and attempt to show John that Sherlock cared for him. He knew now, though, which made it all the more striking when Sherlock cooked. He did it rarely and when he did it was almost always for a special occasion. Unlike what many thought, Sherlock never once forgot an anniversary. He never forgot John's birthday, even when it fell in the midst of a case, even when the case was a six or higher. (Actually, when he was "dead," John received a jar of honey on his birthday each year. He didn't learn until later that the honey was local to where Sherlock was at that time.) This all made it all the more strange when John came home from the practice and the smell of Sherlock's classic French cooking- learned from his grand-mère- permeated through the flat. The hiss of oil on the stove and crackle of water sprinkled onto food on hot burners filled the flat with a quiet symphony. 

"Have I forgot my own birthday again?" John asked, then kissed Sherlock's cheek and peered at the burners.

"No," Sherlock said. "Maybe I just felt like cooking."

"You never feel like cooking."

"I do sometimes. Just not often."

"What's the occasion, then?" John's hands slipped to Sherlock's waist.

"You'll find out soon," Sherlock said. He gently removed John's hands. "I'm cooking. Sit. If you must do something, set the table."

"Fine," John said, smiling. He took the silverware from the drawer and placed it on the miraculously cleared table. "Must be important."

"It is," Sherlock said. "How was work?"

He knew already, of course, and John knew he knew. But he told him anyway, regaled him with stories of runny noses and vaccinations until Sherlock set dinner down on the table with plates already loaded with the side that had stayed behind to stay warm on the stove top. 

"So what's this all about?" John asked, taking a bite of his food. "Oh, that's good. Your grand-mère taught you well."

"Yes, she did." Sherlock smiled and took a small bite himself. "We've ah, we've been dating for a couple years now."

"Yes. More than that almost, the way we acted before."

"Yes, that too. We've been living together for just short of a decade now."

"We have, haven't we? God, that's a long time."

"It is only technically. We had some. . . breaks."

"Well. Fixed now, isn't it?"

"Yes." Sherlock smiled. "What I wanted to talk to you about was- well." He reached into his dressing gown pocket and pulled something out. He kept it closed in his fist so John couldn't see. "It would be easier to say with music, but I've played my heart to you so many times. I suppose- veux-tu m'épouser?" He opened his palm and put a small black ring on the table. "Tungsten and stainless steel. Durable, won't scratch on cases or at the surgery. You don't have to wear it of course, you haven't even said yes yet, of course you haven't, God, I'm talking too much aren't I-"

While Sherlock rambled, unhearing, John picked up the ring and twirled it in his fingers, speechless. He gaped and eventually practically shoved it on his ring finger. "!هو Yes, God, Sherlock, come here." He grasped Sherlock's face and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. "Of course I'll marry you; I love you. زه ستا سره مینه لرم."

"I love you too." Sherlock put his hand over John's left one to feel the ring. He grinned, soppy and in love and totally uncaring about anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was in a funk for the past week and i think i'm starting to come back. this still isn't that great, but i think i'm getting back in the groove


	7. Who is More Romantic? -Harry

Short Answer: It's an ongoing debate.

Long Answer: Before they were dating, they were both convinced that John was the more romantic one. John couldn't imagine Sherlock ever being romantic to anyone, including himself; and Sherlock was convinced that the only way to be romantic was the way was: poetry in emails and candles and fancy dinners. But as John's dating life died off, Sherlock started to realize that perhaps what he always thought was romantic wasn't. 

It still was, though. When they did start dating, John would put up candles and orchestrate dinners on their anniversary. He didn't write Sherlock poetry, but that was mostly because he already wrote the blog posts and Sherlock bemoaned that those were overly romanticized already.

But Sherlock had his own unique way of being romantic. He made dinner when John was tired or on the edge of being sick, made sure he always stopped on cases for John to sleep or eat or drink, and kept the flat at John's preferred temperature.

Sherlock made dinner once to propose, and after John had stopped gaping at his ring and they had engaged in fantastic sex, John had murmured,

"You don't have to do that, you know."

"What?"

"Make dinner. With candles and flowers. You're romantic enough yourself."

"No I'm not. You are."

"Romanticism isn't one idea. You're plenty romantic."

Sherlock huffed. "If you insist."

"I do," John said, then snuggled closer and enjoyed Sherlock's shiver when he rested his cool ring on Sherlock's chest.


	8. Does John wear his dog tags around the flat? -Bill

Short Answer: No.

Long Answer:

Sherlock noticed something a few weeks after they had been sleeping together. Or the absence of something, rather. They hadn’t  _ slept  _ together yet, exactly. Just sleeping. Just falling into bed together, after a case or just on a normal night, and curling around each other, and falling asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing. One night, not after a case but after a night of lazy kisses and telly. Sherlock was tucked along John’s side, legs tangled below the knee, one arm laid diagonally over John’s chest. He fingered slowly along John’s collarbone and played with the neckline of his shirt for a moment before speaking.

“Why don’t you wear your dog tags?” He looked up at John’s face, interested but without any indication of prying. If John didn’t want to talk about it, Sherlock would drop it- John could tell just from his face.

John sighed gently. “I used to. When I just met you. I don’t anymore.”

Sherlock nodded, nuzzled into John’s chest. “Why not?”

“Because back then, it felt like a war zone. Like if I died or got hurt, someone would find my body. I felt like I still needed them.”

“You never did.”

“I know that now. But then. And now I feel like I don’t need them. You’d never leave me if I was hurt, and I know that now. It doesn’t make much sense.”

“No, it does. It’s. . . sweet.”

John smiled and moved the hand that had been resting on Sherlock’s hip to stroke his hair. “It was a nice realization. I was still fresh home from the war and suddenly realized, one night, a few months ago, that I was in a different sort of war now. A war where people didn’t need to look at discs of metal to know who I was. A war that we would always win.”

Sherlock smiled and John felt it against his chest.

“You can have them, if you want. That used to be a thing with my mates in the army. Their girlfriends always liked wearing their tags.”

Sherlock sat up the smallest bit to look John properly in the face.

“Really? You’d let me?”

“Of course. There’s no better use I can think of for them, love. I can get them now, if you want.”

Sherlock shifted off John’s arm. “I won’t stop you.”

John grinned, shook his head, and got up. “You’re lucky I love you.”

A few minutes later, he returned with a clinking silver chain with two discs. Sherlock sat up in anticipation and John giggled. He unclasped the back and placed it around Sherlock’s neck. The metal was cold and felt unemotional against Sherlock’s chest. He held them in his fingers, rubbed them together, as John got back into bed and laid down. He resettled into his original position, but tucked the tags between him and John.

“That’s cold, you berk,” John said, but made no move to remove the chain.

“Won’t be in a moment,” Sherlock said, and they settled to sleep. In the morning, Sherlock would wake early with the tags fastened around his neck, warmed in the heat between their two bodies, and feel wholly, irrevocably loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't even supposed to be part of the series but ayy it got stuck in my head bc i've been wearing a matching necklace with my girlfriend for the last few days and i refuse to take it off so


End file.
